Breath Between Us
by RenLissa
Summary: A letter, a fight, and a secret their world falls apart and we find out about the past, present and future of GSR.
1. Chapter 1 The letter

**Disclaimer**: I'm just going to borrow that characters of CSI for a little while, I promise I'll play nice, or at least that I'll bring them all back in one piece. I want to keep them, but I don't own them. Sigh, I wish I did, but since I don't this will have to do.

**A/N: **This is a WIP, but if I keep thinking about how I am going to get from A to B I am never going to even start the journey. So here's chapter one.

_You take me in, no questions asked; you strip away the ugliness that surrounds me_. Sarah McLachlan, "Sweet Surrender"

**Chapter One – The Letter**

She kept running her fingers over the writing on the envelope. Was she trying to change the sender's address or was she trying to make sure that the writing was real? She wasn't sure anymore. She paper had been so light when she had first picked it up with her other mail. Now it felt like lead weighing down her hand.

She hand been on her way home for a quick shower and something to eat before returning to the lab, when she decided she should also stop at the apartment to water the plants and pick up the mail. It was funny that she thought of the townhouse as home and her apartment as only a place that held her stuff. The only reason she still rented the apartment was that they had decided that if they were to actually live together, they should get a place of their own, and they hadn't found the right place for them yet. Some houses he liked, others made her smile, but none of them were just right for them.

The other problem was the change in address forms that she couldn't bring herself to fill out. It would be taking a giant step forward. Even though she was usually the one running ahead and dragging him behind her, in this one instance, she was stalling. He had told her that no one would really notice. What reason would the rest of the team have to scrutinize her personal file and see that her address and his were the same? Not even management would notice unless they pulled out both files and had them open side by side. She had laughed at this, but she was still coming up with excuses.

So there she was, stopping by the apartment for the hundredth time, or at least what felt like the hundredth time. She was tired and just wanted to crawl into bed. So all she did at that time was pick up the mail and stuff it into her bag without checking it over. When she got home, she found he had cooked dinner and left it in the oven warming so they could eat together. She had meant to look over the mail while eating, but ended up talking to him about his travel plans to an entomology conference instead. Then she had seduced him and left him sleeping while she took a shower. After enjoying the warm, steamy water as it washed away the grime of the case, she had lay down on the bed next to him and fallen asleep. Two hours later she woke up and decided a run would clear her head and energize her before she headed back to the lab. After another shower, and a little more of the vegetarian lasagna, she was ready to head back to the lab. She figured she had enough time to go through her mail and pay some bills first.

That is when she had finally found the letter. She still couldn't bring herself to open it. The official, off-white stationary could only mean something important. The typed-written words frightened her more than the hand-written scrawl of other letters she had received from the same address over the years. It was also good, expensive paper. Not the kind she usually received about psych evaluations and misconduct reports. She was going to get a paper cut if she kept running her fingers over the envelope. She should just open it and get it over. The expectation was worse than when she had got her college acceptance letters. She took a deep breath and ripped the side of the envelope completely open. The words rang through her head as if someone was reading the letter out loud to her, and as her eyes filled with angry tears, her hands began to shake. She was frozen in time. Both here in the present and back in the past at the same time. She was drowning. A million images of the past thirty-five years washed through her mind. She was having trouble breathing. She managed to get up and run to the bathroom where she purged her stomach and her soul. In the end it was only fitting that the letter, ripped up into angry pieces, was flushed down with the bitter taste ii had left in her mouth. She ran cold water over her face until the feeling started to come back. She stood there, looking into the mirror, trying to see more than just the reflection, until he came up behind her and softly touched her shoulder.

"Sara? Are you heading back to the lab?" He asked with a sleepy voice.

"Huh?" She turned and looked at Grissom like he was a stranger standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Can you do me a favor? I still have to pack for the conference. Can you hand out the assignments? His eyes pleaded with her more than his words.

"Um, sure." She said without thinking, had he seen how upset she was? She didn't think so. He was tired and wrapped up in his own concerns.

Sara kissed Grissom on the cheek and slide past him out of the bathroom. She picked up her keys and headed to the office. She hoped that there was something in the assignments to keep her mind off the letter and its ramifications. Otherwise this was going to be a long night. She shook her head. It didn't really matter. This was going to be a long night either way.


	2. Chapter 2 The Fight

**Disclaimer**: I'm still borrowing the characters. They have had a nice time. Especially Greg, I think he suspects I like him best.

**A/N: **Chapter 2 – I know where I want to end up and hopefully this will help me get there.

_Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed, trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved_. Sarah McLachlan, "Possession"

Chapter Two – The Fight

Her hands gripped the steering wheel of car a little too tightly leaving rubber impressions across her palms. When she first got into the car she had been so angry that she had only driven a couple blocks away from the lab and then pulled over to gain her composure. She didn't want to get into an accident because her eyes were too full of tears to see the traffic. By the time she had calmed down, well she actually hadn't calmed down, but she was able to drive over to the townhouse and actually pay attention to the road while doing so. The two bags she had packed were now in the trunk of her car. She had left him a note. After all that happened, it was the least he deserved. She took in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. Maybe now she could look back on it all with a little perspective. Maybe.

It really had been his entire fault. She sighed again. No, she could admit that her bad mood had probably been the start of it all. But who could blame her? If anyone else had received a letter like that, well, would they have even come into work?

She had been so distracted she had almost forgot the assignments on Grissom's desk, and then she came this close to knocking Greg and his cup of coffee over. Greg had been more worried about his cup of coffee about to be spilled than the preoccupation written across her face.

She reached over and turned the dial on the radio until she found a song she liked.

She hadn't meant to pick a fight with Catherine over who should be handing out the assignments. Her and Catherine usually got along. But sometimes she was jealous of the friendship Catherine had developed with Grissom. And, she hated to admit this, even to herself, but Catherine was stronger than she was. She could probably beat Catherine in a contest over intellect, and they both were raised in unconventional families, but deep down she knew that she would break before Catherine when it came to her emotions. So when Catherine had hit one of her buttons, she wished that she didn't have to lie about why she was the one handing out the assignments.

She didn't think she was ready to stop sneaking around everyone's backs, but she also hated the deception. Sometimes she wondered about the ability of her co-workers. They were supposed to be some of the best CSIs in the country, could they not see she was hiding something? She had briefly imagined the look on Catherine's face when she explained that Grissom had asked her to hand out the assignments because he was running behind in his packing, and that the reason he still had packing to do was that she had threw his suitcase off the bed, spilling the contents across the floor, right before she threw him on the bed. That might be a little too much information for the team. Instead, she mumbled something about calling him about something work related and he had just asked her to help out. It sounded lame. It's probably why she ended up in the lab for the evening and not out in the field.

If only she had been on a case. She wouldn't have snapped at Greg for flirting with her. She wouldn't have made the snide remarks to Warrick about his gambling problem and his shaky marriage. She definitely would not have bit Nick's head off about having to be the one that processed the car he brought back to the garage.

By the time Grissom showed up at the lab to pick up the last of the materials he needed for his presentation she was geared for a fight. He had called her into the office to say goodbye. To go over the plan for her to catch the next flight out and meet up with him, and to maybe steal a kiss behind the closed door. She shook her head. She never had the guts in all this time to touch him in any way at the lab. Too many glass walls and prying eyes. He had made some innocent comment about how her evening was going so far. The pressure of the secrecy, the letter, the tension between her and the other members of the team, and her pounding head had all come together at that point.

She winced at the memory. It was definitely her fault. She was tempted to turn the car around and apologize to him before he got on the plane. Had she really told him everything that had been on her mind? How she hated that he had asked her to report on Warrick on both the Holly Gribbs case and his gambling problems. How she and Nick were closer friends before they competed over the lead CSI position, why had he placed them in that situation? How he talked to Catherine about how he was doing after a tough case more than he did with her, even know that they were together. How he would get jealous over her interactions with Greg. Her voice had started out low and serious. But by the time she started thinking about how, even now, he would rather hand out cryptic phrases and puzzling quotes than just tell her his feelings for her, she was having trouble not screaming. She ended up storming out of his office, slamming the door behind her, and ran for the car before she started crying. It all seemed overly dramatic and over the top now. But then? At that moment?

She shook her head again continued to drive away from Vegas and towards California. Towards the ocean, the memories, and the reason she had been fighting in the first place. Fighting with herself and her feelings. She needed to face her demons. She hoped she could survive the consequences of opening her Pandora's box. She had avoided this for six years. It was time to go home.

_Just wanted to say thanks to those who have been reading - including nightblight, Skleton, Iamcsi, Salyards, blujolteone, and odeepblue. Reviews are appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 3 The Porch Swing

**Disclaimer**: These characters still belong to CSI, CBS, etc etc . . . well, except for the ones I made up, those belong to me.

**A/N: **Chapter 3 – I wrote this while lounging on the deck of the cabin by the lake over the Labour Day weekend. I love long weekends.

_Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that would make it ok, there's always one reason to feel not good enough_. Sarah McLachlan, "Angel"

**Chapter 3 - The Porch Swing**

The only light in the room came from the moon as it reflected off the water and streamed through the bedroom window. She was tired but her mind refused to shut down and let her sleep. She lay there staring at the bedroom ceiling, watching the shadows dance across the walls, willing her body to relax and drift into slumber, but it was no use. Was it only a few hours since she had pulled into the drive and stumbled up the familiar steps? It felt like days since she had left Las Vegas.

Sara pulled on her cream-colored silk robe over her matching pink camisole and pajama pants set and quietly moved down the upstairs hallway. She crept down the stairs, carefully missing the step that creaked no matter how lighting or meticulously she stepped on it, and went out to the front porch. She sat down on the swing and began to sway back and forth. The light breeze off the water blew a piece of hair across her face, but she didn't bother to move it back behind her ear. She breathed in. Shallow at first, as if the fresh sea air would hurt her lungs, then deeper and deeper until she became accustomed once again to the salty taste in her mouth. Then she let it out ever so slowly. Like holding onto that deep breath would finally let her find the calm and peace she was looking for, that she had been fighting for ever since she got the letter.

She remembered the first time she sat on this swing. At that time her little legs were too short to touch the ground. She smiled at the thought of her legs being too short for anything. The older boy who had been hiding in the flowerbeds near the front of the house must have seen the frustration on her face, or maybe it was the fear in her eyes, and he came over and sat next to her. The swing moved back and forth, comforting her.

Sara remembered hearing the lady who had brought her here talking to the man and woman who had opened the door. The lady had a pretty smile and warm brown eyes. She talked softly, but quickly, as if she was trying to take away her pain with just words. Her hands were silky and smooth, as if she had just used lotion. Sara had held on tight from the moment she had been picked up at school, until the lady with the pretty smile had let go when she placed Sara on the swing.

The man who had opened the door was tall, with broad shoulders and long arms. His eyes were green and they twinkled. His voice was deep. The woman who was with him had hands made soft through years of baking and gardening. She was tiny, at least in stature and size, but her smile was huge. Her voice was sweet and high like bells on a sleigh.

She may have been only six, but Sara had a pretty good idea of what the three adults were discussing in those hushed tones. When she had started school last month her teacher had noticed that she could read, write, and count better than most of her classmates. The teacher had also seen the bruises on her arms. Once Mommy had picked her up from school wearing sunglasses to hide a black eye. Sara didn't understand the look of sadness in her teacher's eyes. Daddy was the best storyteller; he would act out all the voices and make her laugh. He also made the best tasting blueberry muffins. He only hurt Mommy when he was really angry, and he usually never touched Sara. The bruises had come from the time he had picked her up by her arms while she was playing in the hallway of their apartment and he had continued to carry her by the arms until he had thrown her on her bed and slammed the door behind him before he left for a job interview. Most of the time Daddy was too bust watching TV, drinking, or sleeping to be angry. Most of the time Mommy was too busy working or cleaning the house to be getting in his way.

The boy on the swing squeezed her hand, letting her know that everything would be ok, and it was, for a while at least. The man with the green eyes that twinkled was Sean and he taught Sara how to swim. The woman with the soft hands was Hailey, and Sara helped her make chocolate chip cookies. The boy on the swing was their son, Ben. She started to laugh at Ben's jokes and he helped her build the biggest and most elaborate sand castles. She can remember everything about when Ben took her out sailing for the first time, but she can't quite remember when she started calling Sean "Dad", and Hailey "Mom". It wasn't that first time she visited, because Sara was back with her mother and father before Christmas. She had asked Santa for a bike. Even at six she knew that being returned to the care of Laura and Mike meant that she wouldn't be getting that bike. Maybe she started calling Laura her mother, and Hailey her mom after Mike had thrown Laura down the stairs and Sara had ended up back at the Jordan's B&B while Laura was in the hospital and Mike went to rehab.

Five times since that cool October afternoon, the social worker picked up Sara from school or the house and drove to Tamales Bay. Five times she also came back and drove Sara back to the little run down house in Modesto where The Sidles had moved in the hopes that Mike could find another job. Seven years of fighting and yelling until Sara was picked up from Modesto for the sixth time when she was almost thirteen. The sixth time that Sara ended up in foster care, it was a different woman who held her hand, she didn't have a pretty smile, and her hands were rough. The sixth time Sara was to stay in Tamales Bay for good (which really ended up being until she left for Harvard, but it seemed like forever). The sixth time her father wasn't in rehab, he was dead. The sixth time her mother wasn't in the hospital (except for the short stint in the psychiatric ward for observation), she was in jail. Sara sighed. For the past twenty-nine years, since that very first time she had swung on the porch swing, it was only here, swaying back and forth that she felt safe. This was home.


End file.
